Appassionata: Coda
Wildcat Haven - :Generally referred to as the "Old Quarter" by those that inhabit Crown's Refuge, the south-eastern region of the freehold - known as Wildcat Haven - is where the independent city deep within the northern Wildlands all began. Although not central, the original wooden home of Talus Kahar XIV still stands as a monument within the south-western area of the region, dedicated to all that the late Emperor of another realm sought to accomplish. :Wide avenues and smooth-cobbled streets are the order of the day within the "Old Quarter", with the entire sector having been given over to various warehouses and service buildings. Thus it is here that one can find the local bath house (popular with the Syladris), the main Tavern (popular with the Humans), a small collection of Inns, a handful of trade stores, a number of warehouses and grain silos, and a myriad of other buildings and facilities dedicated to the logistical side of running a freehold like Crown's Refuge. :Although it shares much in common with Wolfbane's Row to the north, Wildcat Haven lacks the compact lattice of buildings and streets in favor of open spaces and breathing room, making it equally suitable for either Human or Syladris to traverse. Also unlike Wolfsbane's Row, more have been taken into consideration regarding the physical nature of the Syladris themselves, with most (if not all) buildings and services offering entrances, furniture, and enough space for anyone to take full advantage of what's on offer. :Avenues lead back to and from their respective pathways towards the north and west, while the perpetual elegance that is Tempest Spire ascends towards the heavens in the northwest. :It is the Eighth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow. The slightest breeze stirs over the land infrequently. The skies are perfectly clear. :All six moons - the cerulean orb of Herald, the crimson Dayhunter, verdant green Stormwatcher, the rich violet of the Serpent's Eye and the gray baubles known as Torch I and II - wax brightly in the sky, neatly aligned in a row that portends unspeakable might in the hands of Shadow-Touched mages. Legend holds that just such an alignment accompanied the great Cataclysm ages ago. ---- Zia's seated on the ground, back propped against the wall of the inn, the multi-coloured moonlight pooling around her. She's silent, for once--no whistling, humminb, singing, trilling, or harping involved--save for the quiet, rhythmic rasp... rasp... rasp... of a whetstone along the edge of the wicked looking stiletto she holds in her hand. The weapon seems nearly to have come from nowhere--there's no sign of an extra sheath on her, and her hunting knife still occupies the one at her waist. Muri emerges from the tavern on quick feet and stands just away from the door, looking around the area as if searching. Siladris and humans alike mill toward and away from destinations and for a moment, she can only hear their footsteps. Then in a brief lull in activity, she hears the rasp of Zia's knife-on-whetstone. Turns, she arches a brow in surprise and moves toward the woodsmith. "Dat's a fine knife ye gots, Missus," she says cheerfully. "G'eve t'ye." Zia looks up at Muri, and manages a smile. "Aye. Isn't it though?" She sounds a little wry, and the whetstone doesn't stop its movement. "Beautiful knife. Bought it off a merchant in Trademeet. How's your practice been going?" Muri nods grimly. "Been well 'nuff," she says. "Ah got no 'eart fer it. Tis one thin' t'be cuttin' int' a bit o'meat fer cookin', tis another t'think ye'll 'ave t'do de same wif a person." She sighs. "But Ah've practiced some wid de Armsmesser 'ere. Haint 'ad much chance t'work wid Messer Kael o'late wid him troubles 'n all." She settles on her haunches next to Zia. "'ow've ye been?" "Aye." Zia nods, setting the whetstone aside and testing the blade with the pad of her thumb. It's sharp, apparently, and a streak of blood wells up there, but it only gets the smallest of winces from her before she sticks in her mouth. Yes, it's sharp. "Light... well enough, I s'pose. I've been at Night's Edge, actually. When you told me of Kael's troubles, I thought I'd see if I could find him. See if there was anything to do..." Pause. "He's been scarce. Still haven't had the chance to catch him alone." "Oo, ye alrights?" Muri asks, seeing blood drawn. "Press on it 'ard, den it'll stop de bleedin'." She nods. "Ah'm 'opin' 'e's gon t'seen de Duchess Valoria. He twas thinkin' o'pledgin' loyalty t'er and Ah was 'opin' dat'd save 'im some from d'lord Varal. Til all is settled fer dem, Ah 'spects 'e won' be teachin' much a'tall." She jerks a thumb toward the tavern. "Seen Messer Taran inside," she says. "Still gots much t'do fer 'im?" Zia blinks, a little startled at Muri's advice, but takes it anyway and wraps her thumb tightly in the edge of her cloak. Hey! Guess what? When you put pressure on a wound, it stops the bleeding! Who'd've thought? "Aye. I hope things work out for him... I meant to find him--mean to, I s'pose--but my niece is ill again, and that usually means I need to go to Marble Grove and win bread or some such." She sighs, casting a slightly uneasy glance towards the door as Muri speaks of Taran. "Ai, no. Finished the furniture, I think." Muri nods. "Ah'm sorries t'ear dat yer niece still haint well," she says. "But wot's dis' 'bout needin' t'win bread fer 'er? If'n dere's anythin' Ah c'n do...cook, mayhaps? Or Ah've been larnin' some 'ealin' stuffs 'round 'bouts. Dunno knowd if'n Ah c'n cure 'er, but mayhaps ease 'er pain?" She chews on her lower lip nervously. "If'n Ah c'n 'elps, ye jus' need t'aks Missus, ye knowd dat right?" Zia smiles. "Aye, I know, Muri. And... thank you. I just mean that when she's ill, I try to be there, so that her parents can tend to her. I do all right, as far as the money goes, and it doesn't hurt to help them where I can. My sister's the baker, 's all, and her husband's a butcher. She'll be all right, eventually--my niece--just needs time." Muri nods, leaving the topic be and offering an encouraging smile. "Ye thinkin' o'goin' dere soon?" she asks. "Ah've 'eard tell de river's up. Ye'll 'ave t'watch de roads. Don' 'spects ye'd lahk t'goed a'swimmin' wid yer 'orse." Zia grins. "No. Moonlight wouldn't appreciate that, I think... and we both know I'm not much of a swimmer. And aye, soon. Mayhaps as soon as tomorrow." "Wahl, be safe is all Ah'm sayin," Muri replies. "De works goin' slow on de Chapel, nears Ah c'n tell, so's Ah'l lahk as not stay 'ere. Haint seen d'lady Celeste o'late. Ah 'spects she's got Cult goin's on t'mind. Didja 'ere tell dat Lord Thayndor's at Nights Edge now? A heard dat Missus Naoi's supposed t'be teachin' 'im...manners." She chuckles and vainly attempts to cover it on a cough. Zia grins. "Celeste's been at Night's Edge. Spoke with her last night, actually. And aye, Naoi's been looking after Thayndor." Cough. "It's... erm... an experience for both of them, I think." "Aye?" Muri asks. "Ye've seen d'lady? Dat's well 'ndeed." She shakes her head. "Ah gotta say, dis a'dear reformin' mages at Night's Edge after dems has takin' t'Shade, wahl, Ah don' knowd wot t'makes o'it. Ah means, Ah'm glad dere not a'killin' dem or lessin' dem straight aways, but 'ows ye gonna tell if'n a mage no longer gonna take t'Shade jus' by talkin?" She shrugs. "Ai, what a question," Zia says, sitting back against the wall and tilting her head skyward. Timing is everything. "It's hard. Particularly with someone like Thayndor, who can play people like sets of loaded dice. But I s'pose they think they can tell." Muri shakes her head, finally settling to the ground next to Zia and gazing upwards also. "Wotcha thin', Missus," she says. "D'ya thin' dey shoul' jus' be lef' alones? Ah means, t'stop a person from doin' wot dey c'n do nat'ral...As if'n someone should comes alongs an' sayin' dat woodsmithin' haint safe 'r makin' music such as lahk ye done, wahl, dat wouldna' make no sense?" She shakes her head. "Ah knowd dere's more to'it but does makes me wunnder some." Zia lets out a sigh. "Ai, Muri, I wish I knew. Really. You know, I was talking to Blackfox the other day about it... I told her to wait, to trust, and to watch. Wait for some sort of indicator. Trust the mage to be strong enough to deal with it. Watch for if they aren't." Muri nods "Deed, 'twas wise t'say," she remarks. "Tis comin' down t'trust...Ah say de same t'Mysra not a week a go, 'ceptin' Ah was talkin' 'bouts why twas dangerous fer 'er t'be walkin' round Fas'eld widout a knight t'elp. Out peoples got powerful fears, aye? Hate t'seen 'er get 'urt cause o'it." Zia nods. "Aye. What was she doing out in Fastheld alone?" Muri shakes her head. "She weren't in Fas'eld wen Ah seen 'er," she says. "She jus' wants t'take pies t'de Shade District t'makes folk happies, but den she got a wunderin' why it was dat she couldnae goed widout a knight." Muri shakes her head. "She weren't in Fas'eld wen Ah seen 'er," she says. "She jus' wants t'take pies t'de Shade District t'makes folk happies, but den she got a wunderin' why it was dat she couldnae goed widout a knight." Zia laughs softly. "The Shadow District. Without a knight. Light, *I* wouldn't go into the Shadow District without a heavily-armed escort on my side, carrying these and knowing my way about the cities or not. Once was enough for me, thank you." She shakes her head. "You cautioned her against it? How'd she take it?" Muri gives Zia a wry smile. "Aye," she says. "Ah'm de same, 'ceptin' dats 'cause we knowd 'ow bad it c'n be, aye? She's a trustin' one, 'opin', nay, lookin' fer de bes' in folk always. She'll set still, ah thin', won' try t'travel widout a knight. She was 'opin' t'be a knight so's she could travel 'erself. She's a wanderin' fool lahks t'us dat ways. Pains 'er not t'goed where she please. Mos'ly she were tryin' t'knowd why it was dat folk in Fas'eld were 'fraid o'her, afraid o'syladis. Aeseryi's wantin' t'goed back dere too..." She breathes a sigh. "'e's 'opin' a Zahir knight'll come t'take 'im backs. C'n ye 'magines dem bofth a travelin' dere?" Zia laughs softly, and nods. "Aye. I can... but if they go, I hope they have a whole troop of knights to go with them. Flashy ones who know what they're doing. Still, it is good that she's like that, too. Hopeful." Muri nods. "Aye, dats wot Ah've learned from de syladris," she says. "Hope an' myst'ry." She stands. "Ah thought t'goed back t'de Basin. Want t'come 'longs?" She brushes dirt of her skirts. Zia casts another look at the door, and at the pool of yellow-gold lamplight filtering through the glass of the window above her head. "I... I can't now, Muri," she says, strangely softly. "Mayhaps I can catch you again later?" Muri tilts her head. "Aye," she replies, hesitant. "Are ye well?" She glances at the window, then back to Zia. "Ye waitin' fer someone? Ah don' mean t'pry..." But of course she is, curious now of Zia's uncharacteristic behavior. "Sort of," Zia agrees with a nod. "I must wait. I'll meet you later, aye?" Muri nods. "Aye," she says after a moment. "If'n ye'll be alrights..." She glances at the window again. "If'n dey come t'blows doh, ye don' try t' get mixed up in it, aye? Dems is too strong fer safety. Ah don' want ye t'git hurt." She fingers her pack. "Ah c'n stitch mos' thin's up, but Ah'd lahk t'not stitch ye up, aye?" She sighs and moves to turn. Zia and Muri are near the front wall of the tavern talking, although it appears that Muri is leaving. Taran steps out of the tavern quietly, drawing up the hood of his cloak as he does so. There is no pause, or glance about; he simply walks westward. Zia nods, smiling slightly. "We'll see, aye? Take care, Muri, and Light's keep." She moves to take the whetstone and knife from her side, to take up her work again, when she spies Taran. And she's on her feet again, moving quickly to catch up. Naoi is his slim, somber shadow. Her right hand is kept close, against the folds of her dress, as if trying to hide something. There is a certain harsh rythm in her step, despite it's slow pace. She simply flanks the bard, likewise quiet. Zia looks between the two, eyes searching. "Tell me." "We go to judgment," says Taran calmly, slipping out of the gate. ---- The Base of Drakesreach Bluff - :A predominantly flat region of elevated land atop a small cliff that roughly spans one thirteenth of the Drakesreach Sierra as a whole, Drakesreach Bluff is at once both an impressive sight and an equally notable landmark within the Wildlands as a whole. It is upon this bluff that the freehold of Crown's Refuge was first established in 625 ATA, and it is upon this very same bluff that that same city has flourished. :Though mostly surrounded by dry auburn grasslands to the north and east, and the rushing waters of the Jadesnake to the west, the southern reaches of the base of Drakesreach Bluff hold some notable features, first and foremost of which is the smooth ramp that ascends towards the top of the bluff itself, leading to the only point around the base of the entire landmark by which one can enter the city above. :That city is, of course, the freehold of Crown's Refuge. Viewable as nothing more than a palisade wall of stone that measures roughly ten foot in height atop the natural aegis of wall that is the cliff face, the suggestion of a multitude of buildings and homes are never the less there all the same. A magnificent and elegant tower of pale white stone and marble ascends above the height of the wall, however, presiding over the surrounding landscape as it spears towards the heavens. :A set of vast wooden gates rest atop the natural ramp that leads up to the surface of the bluff, evidently the only ingress to and from the city above, while the thick reaches of the Verdigris Forest stretch endlessly towards the south, the edge of the forest directly adjacent to the southern edge of the bluff itself. :It is the Tenth hour by the Shadow on Lanternglow. The air is stagnant, not stirring with the slightest breeze. The skies are perfectly clear. :All six moons - the cerulean orb of Herald, the crimson Dayhunter, verdant green Stormwatcher, the rich violet of the Serpent's Eye and the gray baubles known as Torch I and II - wax brightly in the sky, neatly aligned in a row that portends unspeakable might in the hands of Shadow-Touched mages. Legend holds that just such an alignment accompanied the great Cataclysm ages ago. ---- Naoi is quiet, as Taran speaks for them. "Judgment," Zia echoes, understanding in her voice. She turns to Naoi. "Don't do this. Not yet. Let me speak first. Tell me why." "I told you, Ziavri, that you could hate me. I would allow this. That I'd judge, how I saw. I saw, I judged. Don't waste your time on me. Spend it with your friend, for you will not get another chance." Once outside the gates, Taran begins removing his cloak, and then his armor. "Because I cannot live at Night's Edge. Celeste's presence is a screaming pain at that range. Surrounded by the gardens I planted for her and living surrounded by the life she chose as meaning more to her, and the man she loves...I have tried, and I continue, and this is a kinder fate. I would not die as the others before me have." Bare to the waist now, he kneels, facing south. Zia goes to stand at Taran's side, reaching one hand down to rest on his shoulder and gripping, firmly. "Naoi," she says, voice soft, even pleading. "Please... no. Someplace else. Anywhere but Night's Edge. Light's Reach. I have asked you for your judgment, your voice--not your death sentence. A month. I ask a month, to plead the case. To the Warpriest, if need be. To finish the things that were started. One month to search for opinions and judgments, and to understand yours. Don't do this now." "There is no place but Night's Edge. It is too soon, and it isn't a known success. The world we live in is not fair, and often, it is just simply a bad time that two should meet. You asked because you thought I'd be fair, that I wouldn't be swayed by emotions. Move, Ziavri. Now. You slow the process, make it more painful for all of us." Naoi says, voice hard, eyes hard, everything tension and iron. "Please." Even as she talks, the Ordinator approaches, the kukri glinting in her right hand. "I chose my judge," says Taran, without turning from the southern view. "And there is a price for that." "You haven't been, but you are too *quick*," Zia's voice trembles, but doesn't crack. "Let me *speak* first. Hear me out. You're talking about a man's life. You are stealing it from him, Naoi, and I don't even understand why. Tell me what has swayed your judgment." She drops to her knees beside Taran, looking up at him, biting her lip. "Go to Night's Edge. You need not even see Celeste. I will go with you, and Sandrim, and you needn't even leave your quarters. Please." Naoi is stone, stopping just behind Taran, a looming death. "She was at the party," Taran murmurs. "I couldn't see her. But I could sense she was there, a knife of ice in my mind. I'd promised Mysra music, but my throat was too tight to sing." "It won't be forever," Zia whispers. "Only awhile. The grounds are vast, there is space. Try. Please." She turns back to Naoi without losing her grip on the bard. "I asked you to help me save his life, not to take it. Help me save it. Help me bring him back, if you think he has Fallen, but please, for the sake of the Light, tell me *why*. You will not even say that much." "He is Fallen. A simple challenge, and he could not resist calling upon his powers. He could not help himself. This burning obsession with Celeste, that cripples him so, his life's gift's sanctity being respected, never tarnished, a beacon for us in the dark, unsullied with hands that do not deserve to see them. These hands, for example. I take the life of a man that is greater then I am, and I mourn that I must, but it is duty. Let him go, Ziavri. It is time. He is -ready-." Naoi responds. Taran says nothing more. Just remains kneeling, facing south, watching the Wildlands at night. "He is not Fallen," Zia insists. "What was the challenge?" That seems enough for Naoi, as she moves forward swiftly, hand rising, to push Ziavri far away. Or as far as she can. Zia takes a shaky breath, watching Naoi come on, but sits back from Taran. Her hand doesn't move from his shoulder. "Is this right? Is it time?" she breathes, and her voice is shallow. Knotted. Naoi moves forward, to grip the man's hair gently, but she'll allow him the chance to answer her. Taran remains silent, unresisting, waiting. Watching the Wildlands. It is time. The answer is enough. Zia does not move, her hand does not twitch, fingers gripping almost tight enough to bruise. But she will not stop Naoi, will not cease the movement of the blade she carries. Her breath shivers as she draws it, but she falls silent. Waiting. There is pressure felt, Taran's head tilting back, gentle and precise. "Look to the stars, Taran. None shine brighter then you do at this moment." The cold steel of the Kukri kisses his throat, and that must be what death feels like, thin and painful, and quick. Blood wells up to a shallow wound, then drips off. He breathes, he lives, it... wasn't fatal? The kukri is thrown to the ground, blade sticking into the soft dirt. "You would sacrifice yourself because you believe that you have. That you are a risk. Stand and rise, Taran, and know that in the eyes of the Light, they could find no better Shadow to serve it. Keep in mind, though, that the wound signifies just how close you are. How easy it is to step past that boundary." With that, the Child of the Light turns and walks away, with a calm and fatal air. Taran raises a hand to his throat as his hair's released, his expression...conflicted, more than anything else. He breathes out a slow breath, picks up the knife, sheathes it. Then turns to Ziavri. "Thank you." A flicker of a smile. "I will hold still while you hit me, if you like." Zia's hand falls away, and she just about topples over. Graceful? Nuh-uh, no way, no how. Not now. Something halfway between a sob and laugh escapes her as she manages to push herself to something approaching a sitting position. At least, her head is up, rather than down. "Oh... oh Light, don't tempt me," she breathes. Mostly because her vocal chords aren't working properly. Naoi disappears, not tarnishing the moment with her presence. Return to Appassionata Category:Logs